Brandy Clark has had a hand in so many legacy-boosting songs: "Mama's Broken Heart" (Miranda Lambert), "Better Dig Two" (The Band Perry), "Biscuits" (Kacey Musgraves), to name just a few. "I'm a songwriter who also sings," she has said, echoing the ridiculous humility of Karen Carpenter saying she was just a drummer who also happened to sing. Clark's voice is magic—clear and warm and stirring something ineffable, free of "American Idol" frills and trills. While she's made some great records in the past, it took putting herself into the producer hands of that other great Brandi (Carlile, who lately has the Midas touch) to really position her voice front and center in the way it deserves. Tender and beautiful, "Buried" adds only guitar as Clark sings "If you don't want me/ If you're beyond me," her voice rising on each "if," tentative and questioning. It's also an incredible storytelling tool on the spare "Ain't Enough Rocks," about two sisters killing an abuser("a wolf in daddy's clothing") and dumping him in the river. Inspired by a line from Forrest Gump and lit by Derek Trucks' slow-burn guitar, the song is chilling, not giddy like the Chicks' "Goodbye Earl" or celebratory like Hardy's "Wait in the Truck." Carlile has said that hearing these songs "took me back to the first time I heard Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" by Lucinda Wiliams, and it's an apt line to draw. You can hear it in tracks like harmonica-kissed "Best Ones" and heat-hazy "Come Back to Me," with its excellent country chorus. Elsewhere, there are shades of 1980s Rosanne Cash in the epic "Northwest" (an ode to Clark and Carlile's native Washington State) and smooth and easy "All Over Again," which gets dressed up with soulful Honkettes-style harmony. Frequent Carlile collaborators Lucius suavely harmonize on "Tell Her You Don't Love Her." And Clark and Carlile duet on "Dear Insecurity," a piano ballad that pulls out all the stops—weeping strings, heartbreaking melody—but finds Carlile appropriately reining in the knockout power of her own voice. Placing the two perfectly side by side, it's a stunner. And Clark, who knows her way around a bitingly clever verse, gets every little detail right on "She Smoked in the House," a funny yet heartfelt tribute to her grandmother: "She smoked in the house/ Burnt holes in the couch/ Lipstick-circled butts in the ashtray/ She saved in Folders cans/ Swore credit was a scam/ Bought everything at Sears on layaway ... And I hate cigarettes/ But I miss all that smoke." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Perhaps a bit more conscious of contemporary soul trends than her previous Philips albums, this is still very characteristic of her mid-'60s work in its eclectic mix of jazz, pop, soul, and some blues and gospel. Hal Mooney directs some large band arrangements for the material on this LP without submerging Simone's essential strengths. The more serious and introspective material is more memorable than the good-natured pop selections here. The highlights are her energetic vocal rendition of the Oscar Brown/Nat Adderley composition "Work Song" and her spiritual composition "Come Ye," on which Simone's inspirational vocals are backed by nothing other than minimal percussion.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo

The second album by Jefferson Airplane, Surrealistic Pillow was a groundbreaking piece of folk-rock-based psychedelia, and it hit like a shot heard round the world; where the later efforts from bands like the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and especially, the Charlatans, were initially not too much more than cult successes, Surrealistic Pillow rode the pop charts for most of 1967, soaring into that rarefied Top Five region occupied by the likes of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and so on, to which few American rock acts apart from the Byrds had been able to lay claim since 1964. And decades later the album still comes off as strong as any of those artists' best work. From the Top Ten singles "White Rabbit" and "Somebody to Love" to the sublime "Embryonic Journey," the sensibilities are fierce, the material manages to be both melodic and complex (and it rocks, too), and the performances, sparked by new member Grace Slick on most of the lead vocals, are inspired, helped along by Jerry Garcia (serving as spiritual and musical advisor and sometimes guitarist). Every song is a perfectly cut diamond, too perfect in the eyes of the bandmembers, who felt that following the direction of producer Rick Jarrard and working within three- and four-minute running times, and delivering carefully sung accompaniments and succinct solos, resulted in a record that didn't represent their real sound. Regardless, they did wonderful things with the music within that framework, and the only pity is that RCA didn't record for official release any of the group's shows from the same era, when this material made up the bulk of their repertory. That way the live versions, with the band's creativity unrestricted, could be compared and contrasted with the record. The songwriting was spread around between Marty Balin, Slick, Paul Kantner, and Jorma Kaukonen, and Slick and Balin (who never had a prettier song than "Today," which he'd actually written for Tony Bennett) shared the vocals; the whole album was resplendent in a happy balance of all of these creative elements, before excessive experimentation (musical and chemical) began affecting the band's ability to do a straightforward song. The group never made a better album, and few artists from the era ever did.© Bruce Eder /TiVo

Several momentous music careers were blooming in New York's Greenwich Village in 1962.  A young Minnesotan on the folk circuit changed his surname to Dylan and signed on Albert Grossman to manage him. In a tiny W. 8th Street basement speakeasy called the Bon Soir, a new singer of showtunes and standards was generating an equally impressive buzz moving critic Dorothy Kilgallen to burble, "She's never had a singing lesson in her life, doesn't know how to walk, dress or take a bow, but she projects well enough to close her act with a straight rendition of 'Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf' and bring down the house …" Barbra Streisand had recently signed to Columbia Records (which also had Bob Dylan on its roster), and returned to the club for three nights of recording in November, 1962, to capture what was to be her debut album. Shelved for unknown reasons, its 24 tracks, captured in very respectable sound given the state of live recording at that time, have now been issued with new mixes supervised by Streisand and Grammy Award-winning engineer Jochem van der Saag. Accompanied only by a small band led by British pianist Peter Daniels, this is a Streisand few have seen or can remember. What's most forgotten today is how adept a performer she could be in such an intimate environment: cracking jokes, acting the coquette, even letting out rapid fire giggles in "Value." She's audibly nervous yet also clearly at home as the tough Brooklyn girl with the soft center who could raise the roof if she so chose. The singing, some of which was part of the career-spanning 1991 collection Just For The Record, is a rare delicacy. Stripped of the studio gloss that would mark most of her career after these sessions, Streisand never recorded anything this real again. In a startlingly raw version of Leonard Bernstein's children's song, "I Hate Music," she practically shrieks out the title, getting a few laughs in the process. But she follows that burst of immaturity with a gentle, utterly masterful version of Harold Arlen's "Right As The Rain" and a gutsy, breathless, showstopping version of "Cry Me A River" that hint at the career to come. Forget the gauzy outfits, the lacquered nails, those grand modulations, and perfect enunciation, this is a very young Streisand unchained. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Sounding like a suburban, melodic white-funk-injected version of King Missile's performance art/standup comedy, "The Distance" became a novelty hit in the fall of 1996, sending Cake's second album, Fashion Nugget, to platinum status. Certainly, "The Distance" was the only reason Fashion Nugget went platinum, because the remainder of the album is too collegiate and arcane for mainstream music tastes. It isn't because it's obscure or intellectual -- it's because the band is smirking. An "ironic" cover of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" is the key to the album, sending the signal that Cake consider themselves above everyone else, and nothing is too insignificant to make fun of. And that wouldn't necessarily have been a problem if they had the wit or musical skills that would make their music either funny or listenable. Instead, they wallow in sophomoric jokes that rely on self-consciously elaborate wordplay. Occasionally, their blend of collegiate musical styles -- funk, hip-hop, alternative rock -- makes the music easy to digest in small doses, such as "The Distance," but it isn't varied enough to prevent the album from becoming tedious when played straight through.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Not easy to be Paul McCartney in 2018… Anyone who listens to Egypt Station knows that at 76, the former Beatle has very little chance to deliver an album, or even just a handful of songs, that can match his masterpieces of the previous century. Sir Paul must be aware of that as well… And yet, this album hits the nail right on the head. And while his voice understandably has lost some of its haughtiness compared to his golden years, Macca is still a master at writing finely refined pop songs. After writing hundreds of them, he has no lesson to receive from anyone, but listening to Hand In Hand, Do It Now, Dominoes or Confidante, the imprints of his very singular craftsmanship shine through. And in terms of production, the Wings’ former front man was smart enough not to fall into the trap of trying to sound younger than he is. It’s indeed classicism that prevails throughout this Egypt Station, which will surely delight his die-hard fans! © Clotilde Maréchal/Qobuz

Steve Earle and Nashville had had just about enough of one another once it came time for him to cut his third album in 1988. Earle's first two albums, Guitar Town and Exit 0, had sold well and earned enthusiastic reviews, but his stubborn refusal to make nice, his desire to make more rock-influenced albums, and the faint but clear Leftism in his populist lyrical stance made him no friends at MCA's Nashville offices, and his growing dependence on heroin didn't help matters one bit. Earle was moved to MCA's Los Angeles-based Uni imprint, and he headed to Memphis to cut his third album, Copperhead Road. The result improbably became one of Earle's strongest albums; between its big drum sound, arena-sized guitars, and a swagger that owed more to the Rolling Stones and Guns N' Roses than country's New Traditionalists, Copperhead Road was the unabashed rock & roll album Earle had long threatened to make, but his attitude and personality were strong enough to handle the oversized production, and the songs showed that for all the aural firepower, this was still the same down-home troublemaker from Earle's first two albums. The moonshiner's tale of the title cut, the gunfighter's saga of "The Devil's Right Hand," and the story of two generations of soldiers in "Johnny Come Lately" (with the Pogues sitting in as Earle's backing band) were all tough but compelling narratives rooted in country tradition, and their rock moves updated them without robbing them of their power. And if the songs about love that dominate the album's second half don't have the same immediate impact, "Even When I'm Blue," "You Belong to Me," and "Once You Love" are honest and absorbing reflections of the heart of this dysfunctional romantic. Copperhead Road's production, which occasionally borders on hair metal territory, dates it, but the fire of Earle's performances and the strength of the songs more than compensates, and this album still connects 20 years on: if he had been able to hold himself together and make a few more records this strong, it's hard to imagine how big a star he could have become.© Mark Deming /TiVo

REO Speedwagon reached the Billboard charts 24 times. Not all of those were big hits, of course. Some of the early singles barely qualified for the Hot 100, while some of the latter-day hits made no waves outside of the Mainstream Rock charts, which means that they are relatively unheard by the pop audience that loved Hi Infidelity and "Can't Fight This Feeling." In other words, all the big hits could have been assembled on a single-disc collection, but Epic/Legacy's 2004 release The Essential REO Speedwagon is a sprawling double-disc, 33-track history. There's a reason for that. The extra space gives plenty of room for the band -- and Kevin Cronin was indeed a co-producer on this set -- to show that they weren't just a power ballad powerhouse, that they also rocked hard and stretched out on occasion. Consequently, The Essential is more of a history than a standard hits collection. If anything, the hits take a back seat, with the first big anthem, "Roll With the Changes," not showing up until track 13 and Hi Infidelity not rearing its head until the second disc. If you just want the hits, the appropriately titled 1988 collection The Hits will serve those up, but Essential digs deeper, hitting nearly all of the key album tracks, concert staples, and fan favorites, drawing a picture of a band that was more muscular and complex than the hits, particularly power ballads like "Can't Fight This Feeling," would suggest. It's not for every listener, but for those fans who want more than the hits but don't want full-length albums, this is the perfect solution.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

There's a peculiarity to New Orleans' status as America's richest music scene. The list of musicians who've been big locally but unknown in the larger world is crazy long; only a few—most recently Jon Batiste—have achieved wider acclaim. One of the hurdles these musicians face is in how to replicate on record the energy of live performances. Conversely, in studio recordings, New Orleans artists must project what the songs might sound like when stretched out and played live. Troy Andrews, better known as Trombone Shorty, has made it his life's work to master these tricky transitions.  Andrews, who performed at the city’s Jazz and Heritage Festival at the age of four and is now a headliner, is a genuine star—a melding of skilled brass player, charismatic frontman, accomplished dancer and improving singer. Since his excellent 2013 Raphael Saadiq-produced Say That to Say This album, Andrews has been steadily moving in the direction of a roaring, professional, groove-heavy funk/R&B that's flecked with flashes of hip-hop, jazz, rock and especially the music of his hometown heroes, The Meters. Andrews' hometown cred begins with the charming cover photo of Lifted where his mother, Lois Nelson-Andrews (a local icon who passed away in November, 2021), holds him as a child as he toots on a toy saxophone during a Second Line. His devotion to a large presence that can be reproduced live while simultaneously revving up a convincing, listenable studio groove begins with the opener, "Come Back." Lifted was recorded at Andrews' Buckjump Studio with producer Chris Seefried (Fitz and the Tantrums, Andra Day), and as is the fashion in pop music today, is in-your-face loud and overly punchy. Within his emerging style, "Lie to Me" features Andrews' soloing on his unusual and always welcome instrument of choice, the trombone. The rock-infused "I'm Standing Here" showcases the Stevie Ray Vaughan-inspired guitar of guest Gary Clark, Jr. The '70s horn-driven funky soul of Earth, Wind & Fire is the basis for "Might Not Make It Home." The beautiful ballad "Forgiveness" is an example of Andrews' improvement as a lyricis: "Forgiveness is easy/Forgetting takes a long, long time," he acknowledges. The same is true for the swinging "Miss Beautiful" which starts with "I'm the bad guy all the time/ Every problem always mine" and features a call-and-response chorus of "lighten it up." The title track is a rock-oriented number led by a riff from guitarist Pete Murano, who along with baritone saxophonist Dan Oestreicher, are holdovers from Andrews' original band, Orleans Avenue. Clearly designed to become an instant part of Andrews' live extravaganzas, the originals on Lifted are tuneful and well-played, if sonically overcompressed in spots. And while Andrews is verging on becoming too smooth and too streamlined in spots, he's still successfully balancing playing to the mainstream while retaining enough of what makes him identifiably New Orleanian. © Robert Baird/Qobuz